Two Blue Lines
by allysayz
Summary: Life after the games, where Katniss finds herself pregnant but she's mentally unable to handle the situation she's in.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! This is my first fanfic, I don't do much writing so I hope this is okay, it's about life after the games and the rebellion. Please review! :)

Two. Blue. Lines.  
"Peeta." His name escaped my lips in a strangled cry. His position behind the bathroom door shifted, and his face came into view, eyebrows furrowed.  
"Can you please tell me what's wrong?" he pleaded for the hundredth time in the twenty minutes it took for the test to work. And the millionth time since I staggered out the door to buy the damn test after being violently sick. He did this to me, yet he still didn't know. I threw the stick past him, and when he scrambled to retrieve it, I slammed the door and locked it, covering my ears to muffle the sound of his whooping. I pressed my back to the door and drew my knees to my chest.  
"Katniss, this is amazing, I can't wait to..." he seemed to finally notice the shut door. Footsteps sounded and the door handle rattled. "Katniss, sweetheart, are you okay?"  
"No," I whispered, barely audible even to myself.  
"Katniss, please open the door."  
"No!" I roared, turning around and pounding my fists against the wood so hard the vibrations ran through the floor. "This isn't what I wanted! I don't have time for a... A..." I couldn't say the word out loud; the first letter wouldn't pass my lips.  
"A baby, Katniss," I could feel Peeta press against the door behind me, and he couldn't hide the joy, thick as honey, coating every letter that came out of his mouth. "We're having a baby."  
This undid me. I twisted the lock and yanked open the door, glaring down at Peeta.  
"We're having a baby? No. I'm having the baby." I pointed to where my uterus was. "You don't have to spend a year with another human stuck inside you, feeding off you like a leech!"  
"Katniss," he said warily, slowly standing. "It's okay."  
"It's okay? Oh yeah," I flung my arms in the air. "Everything is just dandy! I can't handle a baby Peeta!" My voice cracked, and angry, frightened tears made an appearance, blurring out his face. "I couldn't even look after them."  
I didn't have to explain who they were; they appeared in every dream, every nightmare in the past ten years.  
"Oh, Katniss." He pulled me in his strong embrace, trying unsuccessfully to shield me from the overwhelming sadness that was my life. He didn't remind me that he had lost everyone, too. His hand stroked my hair, the one gesture that I would always succumb to and relax. I leaned into his chest, tears threatening to spill over, and let him talk.  
"You're going to be a fantastic mother. We're going to be the best parents he could ever dream of. He will love cheese buns and singing, and he'll love you. He will never have to know about the games, and we will keep him safe," he whispered, shaping my thoughts. I could picture a little boy, the exact replica of Peeta, chasing the mocking jays that perched in the lower branches, laughter bubbling through his lips. And I wanted him. I wanted this baby.  
I wanted him bad.  
"You should've lead the resistance," I murmured, my face buried in his shirt. He leaned down to kiss my head, and I could feel him smile.  
"And why is that?"  
"Because," I tilted my head up and kissed his jawline. "everyone agrees with you."  
He couldn't contain his excitement. He placed his hand on my bare stomach, kissing me softly, still smiling.  
"So that means you're okay with this?" he questioned, not leaving room for any doubt.  
I couldn't show him how much this baby was effecting me.  
"Only if you realize your feeding two mouths instead of one, now," I smiled, and he let out a laugh, giving an outlet to the happiness that welled up inside him.  
"I'm taking you to the bakery today," he grabbed my hands and lead me out the door. "I want to show my beautiful pregnant wife off to the world."  
We didn't make it past the front door before I had to rush back to the bathroom, everything left in my stomach making an unwelcome reappearance.


	2. Chapter 2

Peeta lured me out of the house with the promise of cheese buns and an apple tart waiting at the bakery, and my tender empty stomach wouldn't let me refuse. The smell of fresh bread and other mouth-watering goods hung thickly in the air, and I inhaled deeply. How lucky I was to have married a baker.

"Grab a seat, I'll be right back," he murmured, dropping a kiss on my cheek, and walked off with a grin plastered across his face. He must've boasted his good fortune, because I heard several congratulations from the three boys he hired to help him run the bakery when school was out, and the youngest, Rowen, poked his head out to congratulate me. I offered him a smile before Peeta rounded the corner, ruffling Rowen's mop of dark hair. He set a plate of warm cheese buns and a tart with the apple chunks arranged to make a heart.

"You're so corny," I laughed, taking a bite out of the tart, savouring the taste.

"Only because I love you," he smiled, raising a hand to caress my cheek. I trapped it there with my own hand, feeling his rough calluses against the soft flesh on my face.

"Ooooh," the three boys fake-swooned, and Torak, the oldest of the three, around eighteen, began making kissing noises.

"Get back to work," Peeta laughed, pulling his hand from my grasp and swatting the boys playfully. "I don't pay you to torment my pregnant wife."

"But that's the best bit," the third boy, Tex, complained jokingly. I couldn't suppress my smile as they pegged comments at Peeta about my pregnancy, especially how much extra baking they'd have to do to feed the mini Mellark.  
"I'm just saying," Tex raised his hands in the air defensively, "when my mom was pregnant with Gracie, she nearly ate us out of house and home. We had to get a nanny goat just so we wouldn't starve!"  
_Nanny goat, Prim had a nanny goat.  
_The cheese bun in my hand fell back onto the plate with a clatter, and tears clouded my vision.  
_Prim could save the nanny goat, but I couldn't save Prim._

I felt arms around me, but it was distant. I could barely hear my name being shouted, hands shaking me, someone pleading for me to say something.  
_If I couldn't keep Prim safe, how am I going to survive with a helpless mini-Peeta?  
_Icy water brought me back to sanity.  
"Why did you do that?" Peeta demanded, and I cringed, thinking he was yelling at me.  
"That's how you get someone to respond, isn't it?"  
It was obvious now that Rowen had jolted me awake, if that's what he did, with a pitcher of cold water.  
"Peeta?" I murmured in a small voice, one very unlike my own.  
"Oh, Katniss," he leant down on his good knee and cupped his hands to my face. "What happened? What's wrong? Are you sick? Did the buns—"  
"It was…" I took a deep shuddering breath. I couldn't form full sentences; I felt like a small child. "Nanny goat… Prim…"

His lips pressed together in a white line, seeming to remember back when I had told him about Prim's goat, Lady, in the arena.  
He turned to Rowen, hands still keeping me grounded. "Can you three run the shop today without me?"

Rowen looked unsure; Peeta never left them in the bakery alone. "We'll manage."  
Peeta nodded, and without asking me if I was okay to walk, scooped one hand under my knee and the other behind my head, lifting me and pulling me tight against his chest.  
"Peeta, you're leg…"  
"My leg will be fine," he whispered gently. "You're the one I need to look after right now."  
I would protest further, but all my mind was capable of right now was keeping the images of a small girl locked in the box in the recesses of my mind. The effort was painful, and my tears melted into Peeta's shirt. He barely pushed through the front door before I succumbed to the relief that was unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Biggest chapter yet, I'm hoping to continue making them at least 1000 words for you guys! Review please, I love constructive criticism! ~ Ally**

* * *

_I was dreaming I was back in the games, but this time I really was pregnant, and heavily too. The mockingjays surrounded me, speaking in garbled tongue. Then a Jabberjay swooped down.  
"Katniss, run!" the jabberjay shrieked, perfectly imitating Prim's voice.  
"Prim!" I waddled to the jabberjay, grasping the air as it flew constantly out of my reach.  
"Katniss! The mutts, help!" Finnick's cry rang out from the throat of another bird. I lunged for this creature, missing and landing on my oversized belly. A sharp pain shot up through my uterus._  
"_Katniss, there is no twelve." _Gale._  
I curled in around my baby screaming profanities at the capitol.  
"Katniss," Peeta said, but his voice had a quality the jabberjays did not. His was real.  
"Peeta, help." I reached my arm out weakly towards him. He kneeled by me, hands reaching for my face, his eyes tender and caring. But they narrowed and turned empty, his hands detouring to my throat._  
"_You disgusting mutt!" He roared, cutting off my air. I made weak attempts to claw at his face, but the pain in my uterus increased. _Just hold on_, I thought to the baby. "You're unnatural! I hate you!"_

"Peeta!" I spluttered, lashing out and slapping my husband in the face. I recoiled as he leant forward to pull me into an embrace.  
"It's okay, Katniss," he whispered, gathering me in his arms, holding me together when I felt like I was falling apart. "It was just a dream."  
"It wasn't a dream," I said shakily, burying my face in his shirt. "It was a nightmare. We were back in the games, the second ones, and you were…"  
I couldn't mention the fact he was choking me; it would be like pouring lemon juice on a fresh wound, cruel and uneccessary.  
"Shh," he whispered, planting a kiss on my temple. "The important part is that it wasn't real."  
_Oh, how wrong you are_, I thought, a lonely tear trailing down my cheek and melting into his shirt. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in the slightly ajar window, catching my eye.  
"I've wasted your whole day," I mumbled into the fabric. "I'm so sorry for ruining this when you were so happy."  
"It's not your fault, honey. I was on the phone to Doctor Aurelius, he says the increased hormones can bring on traumatic memories," he smoothed down my hair as he spoke, causing me to relax and fold into him. "We just have to avoid certain… triggers."  
"I'd ask what, but I guess that's against the point."  
Peeta smiled, leaned down and kissed the crown of my head. "Exactly. I'll make you some food."  
I clutched his hand. "I'm not hungry, please don't leave."  
He shook his head. "I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth." Regardless, he stayed, because I asked. We laid there for what seemed like hours as the shadows retreated along the walls, just listening to the sounds of each other breathing, my head tucked against his chest and his arms encircling me.  
"Peeta?" I whispered, and felt his head turn towards me.  
"Yeah?"  
"Why do you love me?" I asked absentmindedly, my finger creating patterns in the soft fabric of his shirt.  
"We went over this already," he chuckled, his chest bouncing. "We were five—"  
"No," I interrupted softly. "Not when did you start liking me. Why do you love me?"  
He pondered for a minute. A panic started to rise in my chest. _He's not going to think of anything. Stupid, stupid, why did you ask? This might bring on a flashback._  
"I think," he whispered, interrupting my silent self scolding, "it's just you, Katniss. The way you think, the way you love people, so fiercely and protectively. The way you looked after me in the games, both games, how you were determined to bring me home rather than yourself. You're selfless," he kissed my forehead. "You're beautiful. And even now, when you didn't want a baby, you're prepared to grit your teeth and have one, for me. I couldn't think of someone I deserved less but needed more."  
"Isn't it the other way around?" I smiled.  
"Whatever makes you happy," he murmured, a serious tone to his voice. My growling stomach brought him back down to earth, and a mischevious smile danced playfully across his lips. "Who's hungry? You or the baby?"  
"I think both," I laughed, my hand tracing lines across the flat plains of my stomach. "He can't wait to taste his daddy's cooking."  
"Well then," he sat up and offered me a hand, which I gratefully took, and lead me towards the kitchen. "Time to feed my family."  
I was perfectly fine eating leftovers, but Peeta insisted everything I ate now was to be fresh. _Just in case_, he said, but didn't elaborate on what. He set about making me some soup using some of yesterday's game.  
_I'm not going to be allowed to hunt for nine months_, I thought with a grimace, my hand absently drifting to my stomach. _Thanks, mini-Peeta_.  
I knew it wasn't the baby's fault, but if I couldn't spend my free time hunting while Peeta was at the bakery, I might go insane.  
While the soup stewed on the stove, Peeta wandered over to the window, watching the sunset over the horizon. Using my hunter's tread, I silently stood and crept over to his still form, wrapping my arms around his waist.  
"Your favourite colour," I murmured, tucking my head down against his back. "It's so beautiful."  
His heart beat steadily, and he turned slowly to face me, my grip loosening.  
"It's the second most beautiful thing in the world," he said, placing a finger under my chin and guiding my gaze up to his, soft and earnest. "But nothing compares to you."  
I stood on my toes, pressing my lips to his. He stooped down and scooped me up, not breaking the kiss, and smiled underneath my lips.  
"I think the soup's done," he murmured, placing me on a chair.  
"Screw the soup," I pouted, wrapping my arms around his neck, forcing him to stay. He smiled and gingerly unwrapped my strong grip.  
"Not on my watch," he winked, and switched off the stove, ladling the soup into two bowls. For using only rabbit and katniss tubers, it was heavenly. When I had eaten my fill, I pushed the bowl into the centre of the table and wrapped my arms over my bloated stomach, sighing. With this cooking for ten years, it was a wonder I wasn't a mountain of blubber yet.  
Peeta raised an eyebrow. "Does my beautiful pregnant wife approve?"  
"Yes," I groaned, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. A kiss dropped on my lips, and a third hand went to my stomach, tracing shapes.  
Though I had spent all day doing nothing, all I wanted to do now was sleep. My eyelids grew heavy and stayed closed, and Peeta, sensing I was about to pass out in my chair, carried me to bed, where his arms chased away nightmares for one blissful night.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few months passed with only one more breakdown at the bakery, when Rowan accidentally served me a biscuit he had proudly iced with roses without Peeta's knowledge. My flat stomach slowly morphed into a bump, and as my baby grew so did my appetite. The house constantly smelled of cakes and baking bread, though I did most of my eating at the bakery, where Peeta barely removed his gaze from mine, even when customers were present. I never truly appreciated how much passion he put into his baking until now, how he bit his lower lip in concentration as he piped icing petals onto cupcakes, his kneading effortless from practice as his arms moved the dough over the flour-dusted countertop. Never did he look so at home, though the rebuilding looked nothing like the previous store.

When the baby was in its twentieth week in my womb, Dr Aurelius insisted, or more like forced, us to visit the surgery for an ultrasound, which meant a night on the train. The same train that previously housed the tributes from district 12, the bed I slept in on my way to the first games and shared with Peeta on the second, where I prepared for my death twice and fell in love with the boy with the bread. I froze just two steps from the door in the crisp morning air, and began to panic. A million possibilities haunted my brain, immobilizing my feet and hitching my breathing.  
_This is a trap. Peeta's going to die. Peeta and the baby are going to die and I'm going to be left all alone to suffer._

I was on the brink of turning on my heel and sprinting back to the house when a slight pressure in my hand caused me to glance at Peeta, his deep blue eyes gentle and knowing.

"Nothing can hurt you anymore, Katniss," he whispered, and I had to bite my tongue to refrain from telling him just how wrong he was, how this baby was just adding to the list of people it would kill me to lose. How the people I've already lost still appear in my dreams, ten years on, and although there were a few happy ones with Prim, Madge, Finnick and occasionally even Mags, who's garbled speaking still confuses me, each time I wake is a twisting blade to the gut.  
Peeta ushered me into the train, each step increasing my heart rate, his arm slowly propelling me forward. He silently walked me to a bedroom we had not previously used, and let me curl up on the bed as the terror pressed down on me, stroking my hair until I relaxed. He murmured soothing words, and I folded my arms across my swollen stomach.

As the train started moving, my stomach seemed to spasm with the vibrating of the wheels over the tracks. Realization dawned over me as I slid my hands under my shirt, feeling small shifts under my skin.  
"Peeta," I gasped, grabbing his hand and placing it on the bare skin of my stomach under my own, watching his eyes widen with excitement.

"He's moving!" Peeta spluttered, his words tumbling over each other in their hurry to get out. He was all but shaking with joy, three times as excited as I seemed. I could understand Peeta's want for children, a small part of each of us made into someone better, and this made him seem more real.

All my fears about the train melted away as we gaped in amazement at our baby's slight movements. Peeta's goofy smile left me in a fit of giggles, the baby's movements stopping abruptly.

"What a clever boy," he spoke in a tone reserved for small children and animals, rubbing my belly.

"We're halfway there," I whispered, and Peeta kissed me with a gentleness only he could muster.

The miles flew past us and the baby moved once more, much to Peeta's excitement. As the districts passed by, we slowed to take on board other passengers, but Peeta and I remained in our room, keeping our joy behind closed doors.

"What are we going to name him?" Peeta murmured in the quiet hours before bedtime. I'd never thought of it before, but now it dawned on me that in a few short weeks, we'd have a small part of us in our arms, and we had no name for him.

"I have no idea," I replied, chewing on my lower lip. I sat up and headed for the bathroom. "I need a shower."

The buttons that provided different services were still in place, and I played with them as I had ten years ago. As a sugary sweet gel coated my body, I went to work foaming it up. This was my alone time, where I whispered to my baby when I knew Peeta wasn't listening. He gave me privacy here as I gave him privacy when he baked, though he was insistent on my being there. I murmured words that meant little to the growing being, and gently lathered the soapy substance over my belly. Regardless of anything, I knew he understood he was loved.

As I stepped out of the shower, the fan dried me off and I slipped over my head a soft white nightgown Peeta had bought me to accommodate for the growing bump, which seemed more like a mountain now. It seemed inconceivable that he would continue to grow, when I was already so huge.

"You see what you're doing to me?" I smiled, patting the bump gently. "You're making me into a whale."

I hear Peeta chuckle through the closed door, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment at being caught talking to the baby, though Peeta admitted to doing it all the time. I poked my head through the door, eyebrows raised.

"He's growing on you in more ways then one," Peeta noted with a soft grin, laughing at his bad joke.

"Well, I have to love him," I smiled, walking into Peeta's open arms. "It's part of a mother's job description."

We stood like that for a while, Peeta's lips buried in my hair and my ear on his chest, listening to his heart beat, before he kissed my forehead and decided to take a shower. I crawled into my side of the bed, always the side closest to the window out of fear and habit. It provided quick escape and allowed me to protect Peeta, no matter what state I was in. I closed my eyes and let sleep pull me under, but not before I felt Peeta's warmth, arms encircling me from behind, smelling vaguely of apples.

I woke in the morning to bright sunlight streaming in the window, and I blindly groped for the shutters, but not before I noticed we had stopped in district two, a group of men boarding. One man, remarkably changed, but still the same boy from when I was twelve, caught my eye, his grey eyes bright in the morning light. I yanked the shutters closed, a grip closing over my heart.  
_Gale._

Ooh lala, I see a reunion on the horizon, what about you? Sorry for the delay, I have school and I didn't want to write a chapter half-assed and just slap it on here. Leave reviews or ideas or anything you want to see happen, I just really love it when a review pops up in my inbox! Happy reading, I'll see you guys next time!


	5. Chapter 5

I knew sleep wouldn't return now, that would be the easy way out. I inched my way out of bed, not wanting to wake Peeta, and ordered food from the in room menu, a tray of sliced fruit and mugs of creamy hot chocolate appearing before me.  
I couldn't leave the room without being spotted by Gale, and nervous, guilty butterflies twirled in my stomach. I hadn't seen him for ten years, hadn't made the effort to call my best friend and see if he was alright, to offer him condolence when I had heard Rory lost his life disabling pods left in the shabby remains of the Capitol's east side. Not that he'd made the effort either. He was too proud for his own good.  
Peeta stirred of his own accord in late morning, a time I still never managed to sleep until. Offering me a smile only people who loved each other exchanged, he rolled out of bed and sat opposite of me, picking up a piece of pink melon.  
"How long have you been up?" he questioned, reaching across the table to trail a finger down my cheek.  
I shrugged, never taking note of the clock, no matter what I had to do that day. I didn't trust clocks, so organized and precise. If I became too reliant on them and they decided to protest by not working, I would be in strife. I preferred the stage of the sun and my intuition to tell me what I needed to know. "An hour or two, I guess."  
Peeta, too trusting, glanced at the clock and took a bite of his fruit, sweet juice trailing down his chin before he blocked it with a napkin.  
"We have a few hours until we reach the capitol," he noted, taking another bite. "Why don't we walk around the train?"  
My face froze in a mask Peeta recognized all too well, not even raising an eyebrow when I declined. He possibly believed I was still afraid of the train, not the fragment of the past who walked the halls until we unloaded at the Capitol.  
"So," he drawled, blue eyes roaming over me before settling on my swollen abdomen. "What do you think we should do."  
I smiled, my hand tracing circles on my stomach. "Don't get excited, he hasn't moved since yesterday."  
Peeta's face fell, and I let out a small laugh. I thought mothers were supposed to be the emotional ones?  
"I've been thinking," Peeta started, causing me to look up at him, his face full of animation once again, "about names."  
I raised an eyebrow, but allowed him to keep talking.  
"I was thinking, you know, if it was a boy, to name him Nick."  
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I realized what had made him choose this. The passing of Finnick Odair, who became close to us in those final games ten years ago, would never go unnoticed, and it felt right to give him some part in our lives, like Annie did when she named their son Fynn, who would be turning ten soon. I nodded mutely with my lips pressed in a line, fearing my voice would break and tears would spill if I spoke.  
"And," he continued, "if it was a girl, we could name her Rose?"  
_President Snow at the opening ceremony of the games. Throwing us into the arena to die. Rue losing her life at the hands of a boy who died from my arrow._  
A whimper broke through my lips as I gripped the chair. Don't lose it.  
_Touring Panem. Snow threatening my family, Peeta, Gale. Throwing us in the arena for the second time. Bombing twelve..._  
Choked cries rumbled in my throat, tearing into my lungs.  
_Infants and children blocking the way into President Snow's lair. Parachutes exploding, cries of pain piercing the air. My ever loving sister, rushing to help, turning into a fireball. A human torch._  
Tears burnt my eyes as I felt my thumbnails piercing the flesh of the heels of my palms, Peeta's hands cupping my face, begging me to look at him.  
_Snow, on the porch of the building, laughing himself to death, a fresh white rose in his breast pocket turning to crimson red._  
The cries tore out of my mouth in a deafening, blood curdling scream. I knew Peeta was there, I could hear his soothing murmurs in my ear, feel his fingertips on my scalp, my face pressed against his chest as the screams shifted to sobs  
"What's wrong?" An unfamiliar voice outside the door asked, testing the locked handle.  
"Panic attack," Peeta said, and I didn't have to lift my head to know he was confused and pained; he hated doing this to me, even though it wasn't his fault. The words he said weren't new to me; I had heard the term several years ago plenty of times, when people screamed all throughout district 13. But when it was applied to me, it was a different story.  
"Open up," a different voice demanded. There were more than two men out there, obviously not trusting the mysterious man with the hysterical woman.  
I felt my weight shift so I was tucked up in Peeta's arms, and he thudded over to the door. Upon drawing back the deadbolt and unlocking the handle, Peeta dropped on the couch, my shaking frame curled on top of him. I heard about five pairs of footsteps march into the room, but as I glanced up there were six men.  
One man, with a velvety tread despite his massive stature, looked at me with shock, letting out a surprised gasp before regaining his composure, eyes hardening with a steely resolve. The remaining men shot him surprised glances, but all his attention was on Peeta. "What's wrong with her?"  
"She's been having panic attacks, the extra hormones override her grip on present reality." Peeta matched his uniform tone, but still stroking my hair softly until the sobbing subsided.  
"Extra hormones?"  
"She's pregnant." Peeta shifted my slightly so my bump was on view, and I caught a glimpse of pure shock on the man's face. He simply nodded, and directed the other men out of the room. Just before he fully closed the door, I called out to him in a whispery voice, evidence of the tears in my crackly voice.  
"Bye, Gale."  
He let his reserve fall for a minute, and I could see the look of betrayal in his seam grey eyes. The guilt was overwhelming, but I had done wrong by him from not telling him. He deserved to know.  
"Bye, Catnip."

"You knew he was on the train, didn't you?" Peeta asked with twenty minutes until we reached the capitol, avoiding the subject of the 'Attack'. I nodded mutely into his chest, still curled on top of him. He ran his fingers through my hair and down my spine, soothing and familiar.  
"He got on this morning, at district two," I whispered, knowing Peeta would be struggling to hear me but unable to bring myself to speak any louder. He remained silent, fingers continuing to flow in the same magic pattern.  
With five minutes to go, Peeta packed our meager travel items in the backpack he brought, folding the clothes with an easy precision I would never have, and we ventured out to where we would get off. Occupying the seat closest to the exit was Gale. We sat across from him, receiving no acknowledgement above a curt nod, and I leaned into Peeta as we waited, his arm snaking around my shoulder and pulling me close. As the train pulled into the station, Gale hopped up and prepared to bolt out the door, changing his mind at the last minute and turning to me as Peeta and I stood.  
"Good luck with the baby," he said sincerely, looking at both Peeta and I, before settling his gaze on me. "And Katniss..."  
I pursed my lips, guilt churning in my stomach. "Yes, Gale?"  
He stepped forward with slight hesitance, pulling me into a familiar embrace, the one of an easy hunting friendship. "Please," he whispered into my ear, "stay healthy. Don't be afraid to call me. I've missed you, Catnip."  
He pulled away, and I risked a peck on his cheek, knowing Peeta knew Gale would forever remain my best friend.  
"Bye," I whispered, and he departed, giving me one last look before racing to a waiting car. Peeta and I made our slow journey from the train to the surgery, knowing Dr Aurelius would be expecting us immediately. The instant we arrived, we were ushered into different rooms, a check up for Peeta's leg and one for my mind. A lady asked me several questions, some forcing me to dig my nails into my palms, before tearing a piece of paper off of a pad and handing it to me, "To give to Peeta."  
She then led me to a room where I was placed on a bed, and Peeta entered, sitting on a stool and grasping my hand, massaging it gently. Dr Aurelius wheeled in a machine, greeting us both.  
"I need to cover your skin with this, Katniss," he informed me, picking up an unassuming container. "Just lift your shirt up to your chest."  
I complied silently, allowing the gel to coat my stomach before he directed a tool over the substance, bringing a beautiful sight up on the screen of the machine. A strong heartbeat thudded in time with my own, and Peeta's jaw dropped as he took in the sight of the baby. He already had fingers and toes. Another shape moved behind the baby, causing my heart to race.  
"Well, I'll be," Dr Aurelius chuckled. "Looks like you're having twins."

_**Twins! Now I'm getting excited! Katniss is going a little loopy, isn't she? Let's hope she doesn't completely fall off the wagon, that would be devastating. Anyways, more chapters to write, and my demanding Beta *cough cough, wink wink* wants me to write more of Raxton's story, be sure to check it out if you haven't already! Love you all, post reviews, subscribe to the story if you want more, and goodbye! ~ Ally xx**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**So inspired to write more baby related stuff, my neighbour just gave birth to a little girl *awwww* Sorry for keeping you waiting for so long! I have been sick and busy with school! What's a 15 year old girl to do? *Sigh* Anyway, here it is ^.^  
Oh, and PS, sorry for the tense change, some days I just really can't write in past tense! **_

It's the anniversary of the last day of the rebellion today. Everyone in Panem rushes out to the town centre or takes a train to the Capitol for a celebration, except for those who lost loved ones. I now know why Gale was on the train; once a year, we see him on the live Capitol broadcast for the parade, where he walks alongside the other veterans of the war. Peeta didn't remind me of the day, but I wake in a cold sweat when I realise. It is something my brain decides to remember on it's own, the days Finnick and Boggs and Prim died. It was the day my brain decided we were going to visit the memorial graveyard in twelve; where the soldier's and nurse's remains were buried. Peeta gave up trying to convince me not to go last year; I always ended up in a numb state for days after, but it was something I had to do. I had to tell Prim I remembered her.  
I trail my fingertips over each headstone as we pass; they aren't really headstones, since we couldn't afford them, but a favourite item of the deceased hung on a wooden stake in place of one. I pay a quick visit to the memorial wall; a rock wall carved with the names of every soldier from the other districts and the capitol. I trace Finnick's name with my finger, telling him about how we were doing okay, that I was pregnant, that Annie was healthy. Boggs is there too, and I do this funny little salute. It just feels right; he was my captain. But I couldn't stay at the wall; I had to venture into the graves, to find Prim. There are no names, and I have to rely on memory to guide me to my sister. No problem though, since the path is forever etched into my brain. I come to a stop in front of a white post with a faded pink ribbon tied in a bow, since it would be cruel to tie Lady, old and somehow alive, to the stake, where she was much happier with greasy Sae, who found her after the bombings. Buried beside my sister in a shallow grave is Buttercup, who passed away on the old spot of our old home, three years after Prim died. She would have liked it.  
"Hi little duck," I whisper, crouching down in front of the stake and fingering the ribbon. "You missed your twenty-third birthday."  
I could feel Peeta's presence behind me; he always comes, but rarely speaks. I don't want to let him be ignored this year; he is wholly part of my life now. I reach behind me, searching for Peeta's rough, warm hands. He laces our fingers and steps forward, reading my mind, so that he is beside me.  
"We have something to tell you Prim," I look down at my obviously swollen stomach, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. If she were alive, she'd role her eyes and declare she was the first to know, possibly even before me. I'd laugh and tickle her, asking her to prove it. But we can't do that. Because she's dead.  
Peeta, knowing my words are jammed in my throat, kneels beside me, his bad leg wobbling as always.  
"We're having a baby, Prim," he says, a hand resting on the stake. "Actually, we're having two. A girl and a boy."  
This is news to me; I had detached as soon as I heard I had twins, marvelling at that fact there were two mini-Peeta's in me. A boy _and_ a girl; my heart races just thinking about it.  
"They're so beautiful, Prim," I choke out, tears collecting in my eyes. "They already have little fingers. You should have seen them. I wish you had. You would have made the best aunty. You were so good…" The tears run freely now, but I couldn't be bothered to stop them. I was with two of the three people who knew me better than anyone else in the world, and they wouldn't be bothered by my tears. I lean into Peeta, letting him support me while I attempt to regulate my breathing. There are no words left to say, nothing I haven't said many times before. I press my middle three fingers against my lips and hold them out, Peeta copying the gesture. We stand together, silently, and slowly make our way home, slowly leaving Prim behind.

_I dream tonight of Prim, but it isn't a nightmare. She's sitting in the meadow, slowly running her hands over the swishing grass, her fourteen-year-old self happily self contained. I slowly walk over to her, afraid to spook her, not wanting her to vanish into thin air. But she barely notices me, picking up a dandelion and blowing the pods into the wind. My breath catches in my throat, and she looks up, smiling.  
"Katniss," she says in her sweet voice, one I haven't heard speak a normal word in so long. "Why didn't you tell me about the babies first?"  
I break in my dream, falling to my knees and sobbing. "I… The grave… Just… So hard…"  
She doesn't move, just stares at me while I weep. "Don't cry, Katniss. I'm not mad."  
I cry harder, struggling to breathe. Prim stands and walks out of the meadow, towards the woods.  
I reach out a hand towards her. "Wait, Prim, don't go!"  
She turns towards me and cocks her head to the side. "You don't need me anymore, Katniss," she says with a smile. "You've got another family to worry about. You don't have the time or energy to miss me. It's time to move on."  
"I don't want to," I sob, clutching at thin air, at the grass. "Please, don't leave."  
"Goodbye, Katniss," she says in a voice so quiet, it would be inaudible. But it hits me like a wave, pushing me back while she turns around and heads over the hill. The last thing I see is her untucked shirt, forming a duck's tail._

Peeta holds me in his sleep, somehow not being roused when I jolt myself awake. He just murmurs something unintelligible and subconsciously pulls me closer. I relish in his warmth, not taking for granted I could have lost him too, but he's still here.  
"She's gone, Peeta," I whisper, quiet enough not to wake him from his rarely peaceful sleep. "She's really gone this time. She's not coming back."  
Silent tears roll down my cheeks as I slip back into sleep, praying Prim will come back to me.

I wake to an empty bed as the sun rises. I shrug on a bathrobe, feeling goosebumps coat my skin, and make my way downstairs, searching for my husband.  
"Peeta?" I call out, my hand trailing down the banister. I smell fresh bread, baking in the oven, and Peeta rounds the corner so he's standing directly in front of me.  
"You're pregnant?" He asks, so suddenly I'm left dumbfounded. "Real or not real?"  
"Real," I stutter, freezing in place. "Oh, god, so real Peeta."  
I lift Peeta's shirt, the one I sleep in when I have a bad day, over my stomach, cradling the swollen mass with my left palm.  
"It's mine, _they're_ mine," he states with underlying confusion and anger. "Real or not real?"  
"Real," I whisper, descending the last few steps and taking him in my arms, something that's become hard to do with my stomach growing. "There is no doubt these babies are one hundred per cent yours, Peeta. I swear. Real."  
I feel him relax into me, his head sagging so it hits my shoulder. "I had a shiny dream last night, and you ran away with Gale," he croaks, and I hold him tighter. "I was so scared."  
I don't say anything. How selfish of me to forget he still struggles with his hallucinations, the tracker jacker venom leaving him mentally scarred.  
Neither of us moves until we smell the bread burning. I lead Peeta to the closest chair and rush to switch the oven off, the edges of the loaves crisped and blackened. With a knife, I hack at the bread until they bear no traces of their ordeal in the oven. If only people were so easy.  
"Sixteen years and your still making me burn bread," Peeta says, a smile dancing on his lips. I leave the bread and sit on a chair across from him, raising my hand to his cheek, which he promptly brings to his lips.  
"I guess some things never change," I murmur.

_**Have to let go of Prim sometime :'( Ahh, poor Peeta, dealing with Katniss's brief spurts of madness and then his own shiny times. Let's hope they heal together, and stop burning the damn bread! Don't forget to hit that review button (isn't it tempting?) (;  
Happy reading! Ally, xo  
Oh, and just got told I have to do disclaimers! I did not write the genius that is The Hunger Games, no matter how much I wish I did! This is fan fiction people! **_**Fan**_**fiction**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**I figured I owed you guys another chapter really soon, so here you go, numero 7! I might not post for a while because I have huge tests coming up and I really don't want to fail! Happy reading! Ally, xo**_

_**Boring disclaimer no one reads: I didn't write the genius that is the Hunger Games. That's why this is **__**fan**__**fiction!**_

Prim - a person normally abundant in both my dreams and nightmares - makes no more appearances. It has been a week since she said goodbye, and my brain decides to torture me with dreams of waiting. It's the same, over and over again, standing in the meadow with silence washing over me, not so much as a mockingbird song sounding the the scarily still wind. At first, I don't know what I'm doing, until a sense of loss hits me, and I remember Prim saying goodbye. I fall to my knees, or on my side, and scream for her to come home, to come back to me. Then Peeta wakes me up, rocking me soothingly.  
"It's okay, Katniss," he whispers. "No one will hurt you_ or_ the babies. I swear."  
I still haven't told his conscious self that Prim abandoned me, leaving me to wait in the meadow. Maybe this is all I'll ever dream about ever again. I deserve as much.

I receive a letter the Sunday after Rebellion Recognition day. The cursive writing, addressed to Mrs Mellark, is strange, yet familiar. Peeta cooks an omelette over the stove as I sit at the kitchen table, tearing along the top of the envelope.

_Dear Katniss,  
It's been nearly ten years, and you have every right to not want me in your life right now. I'm writing to tell you I'm heading back to twelve to staff the new wing of the doctor's practice. I'll arrive in twelve the Monday after you get this hopefully, and I'll be living on the plot of our old home. _

There's several lines of words scribbled out with pen, turned into indecipherable lumps. I make out words like_ lost, promise, stupid, miss_. I know what she's trying to say.

_No matter how much I ignore it, she's still there Katniss. I can't run away or hide from the only family I have left anymore. I love you, and I know it hasn't been evident. I'm a selfish person, something a mother should never be._

More crossed out scribble, and I know she has written a whole paragraph about trying to make things right, how Prim and father would want us to move on, though she couldn't. But she doesn't want me to read that.

_I'll see you soon if you want to see me.  
Mom_

I feel anger bubbling in my chest, and I crumple the letter. How dare she try to apologise through paper, where she wouldn't see my reaction. How dare she try to come back into my life now, when I'm so vulnerable. Peeta slides a plate in front of me, but instead of dropping a kiss on my cheek, my forehead, my hand, he places a finger under my chin and lifts it to meet my gaze.  
"What's the matter?" He asks, sliding his hand from my chin to my cheek. I automatically lean my head into his warm palm, feeling his scars and callouses against my smooth cheek.  
"Nothing," I mutter, looking down. I hear crinkling noises, and look up to see Peeta reading the letter with his free hand. My jaw drops and I make a grab for the sheet of paper, unsuccessfully.  
"That's private," I hiss, a scowl forming on my face. Peeta's eyes run over the last sentence, and understanding falls over his face.  
"Katniss…" he begins, and I know he will try to convince me to forgive her. I stand up as abruptly as my bulging stomach will allow and head for the stairs, Peeta trailing after me.  
"I don't want to hear it, Peeta."  
"Hear me out Katniss," he pleads, attempting to stop me by standing in front of me. I deftly swerve around him, jogging up the steps. I close and lock the door to our room, heading for the bed to bury myself under the thick quilt. Peeta bangs on the door, begging me to open it.  
"Please, Peeta," I groan. "Please just leave me out of it."  
The knocking stops, and footsteps head towards the stairs. I spend the rest of the day in an almost meditative state, only breathing and watching the shadows climb and descend the walls. By late afternoon, my stomach is growling, and though I can normally stand hunger, I don't want to harm my baby. My _babies_.  
I open the door to Peeta, sitting with his back against the stair rails, cheese buns to his side. I hang my head slightly, ashamed at throwing such a tantrum over this, when all he wanted to do was talk.  
He stands, arms lifted slightly, and I walk into them. His ability to read my mind is uncanny and extremely helpful in times like these where words evade my lips.  
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into my hair. "I shouldn't ever force you to talk about things you don't want to."  
"It's okay," I whisper into his shirt. And it is. I shouldn't run away from my problems.  
The babies shift and move; I can feel little hands press against the skin of my stomach. I feel Peeta stiffen; I look up and catch his gleaming eyes. He takes a step back and crouches, so his face is in line with my stomach. Hands reach under my shirt, onto my bare skin, and feel for the timid knocks from my womb.  
"Hello," he whispers, so faintly the babies have no chance of hearing him. But they must feel his presence, as their movements increase. Happy tears gather in Peeta's eyes as he plants a kiss where a fist or foot repeatedly pushes. He is in his element.  
My stomach ruins the moment with another aggressive noise, and Peeta laughs. He reaches for the plate of cheese buns, stands, and leads me back into the room by the hand.  
I rest on his chest while I eat, one of Peeta's arms around my shoulder and the other on my stomach, and he repeatedly brushes his lips over my forehead. We watch the sun fall over the horizon, and I place my empty plate on the nightstand. I lie on my side, using Peeta's chest as a pillow, and savour the moment. Peeta smells like flour and something sweet, just like always.  
"Peeta?" I say tentatively, worrying he has fallen asleep.  
"Yeah?" He whispers back, sounding groggy.  
"I really don't want to see her," I say into his chest, muffling the words slightly. He is silent, and I don't know whether or not he'll debate me on the topic. His chest heaves with a sigh.  
"I'm not going to force you to do anything, love," he says, tracing a slow, lazy circle on my stomach with a long finger. "But if you want to see her in the morning, we can get her from the station. Just say the word."  
I drift off to sleep, but not before I catch his faint _I love you_.  
"I love you too," I murmur back, voice heavy with sleep. And I sink under.

I wake up just before sunrise, but not from my own accord. A sharp pain stabs me in the stomach, and I wrench forward, gasping. Peeta shoots up, a panicked look on his face.  
"Katniss?" He says, eyes wide with fright. "What's wrong?"  
I move to stand, and Peeta clicks on the light. Red liquid stains the mattress and my dress.  
I'm bleeding


	8. Chapter 8

_**Sorry this took forever, reason numero uno was that I had work experience all this week! Not 100% happy with this, I feel like it's a little rushed even though I wrote it slowly over the course of the week. Sooner or later, you guys are gonna get sick of waiting for these to come out. I would like to 'formally' apologise for my terrible writer's etiquette and long update waiting periods. I love you guys for reading and reviewing! Just saying.**_

_**Disclaimer every author hates to write: I DID NOT WRITE THE HUNGER GAMES**_

"Katniss?"

A warm, rough voice rouses me from slumber, though not one I have heard in a long, long time, and I think I'm imagining it. I don't want to open my eyes.

The last thing I remember was blood… So much blood. Mine, my babies'. My heart pangs painfully, and I don't want to fall back into reality. I want everything to be okay, the blood never appearing, waking up later in the morning and making pancakes with Peeta, his perfectly golden and mine slightly crisped around the edges. He'd swap pancakes with me, claiming he liked his crunchy, and I would laugh as he attempted not to screw up his nose. Our babies would kick at the sound of my laughter, and we'd be happy.

I feel Peeta's familiar scarred hand stroking my forehead, brushing stray strands of hair away, and my right hand in his. I involuntarily flutter my eyelids at his fleeting touch, and he presses a kiss to my cheek. I'm guessing we're in the hospital, smelling faintly like bleach with small beeping sounds nearby. I don't remember being brought to the room I'm in, with the stiff sheets uncomfortable on my skin, but I'm guessing I passed out...

"It's okay, Katniss," he whispers, lips brushing against my ear.

_What's okay? The fact that I'm here? Or my babies? Are our babies okay, Peeta? Is that what you mean? _

"They're still with us, Katniss," he reassures me, always seeming to read my mind. "They're perfectly healthy."

I nearly start crying with relief, pursing my lips and opening my eyes. My mother, aged scarily, sits on my right, where I initially believed Peeta was, grasping my hand like a lifeline. I stiffen, and the happy glow from the pressing relief I had felt slowly drains from my face.

"You're pregnant." She says, not accusatory or questioning. Just stating. Like she's still trying to wrap her head around it. I nod, my face clear of any emotions. A solitary tear slips down her cheek, and a huge grin creeps it's way across her face.

"I can't believe-"

"Don't," I say, taking my hand back. She looks stunned, hurt even, but I don't apologize. "Don't get all happy and teary and tell me how wonderful this is."

A fearful look crosses her face. Is she _afraid_ of me?

"You left me alone for ten years," I say through gritted teeth. "You left me to deal with depression and pain _on my own _for ten years. I have been struggling while you pretended you didn't have a family anymore in four. And now, when I'm_ finally_ getting it back together again, you think it's okay to come crawling back into my life?"

The fear gets replaced with anger. Her voice is the type of angry you describe as cold- much scarier than rage. "Katniss, I know-"

"No, you don't!" I yell, and Peeta grabs my left bicep gently when I try to rise out of bed, reminding me of his presence.

"Katniss," he says softly. "Just calm down."

I pretend he hasn't spoken. "_I_ watched her burn to death. _I_ ran in to save her. _I_ have scars on every square inch of my body, and _I_ had to take care of myself while _you_ forgot you had a child left. It was _agony_. You didn't even show up when we buried her."

I could see tiny flashes of guilt behind her angry glare. "Maybe," she says, her words slow and forced, "I didn't want you to see me like I was after your father had died. Maybe I was trying to protect you from having to watch your mother break."

"Liar!" I scream, and a lady clad in a stiff, white dress scurries in the room, her face a mask of serenity with blue, frightened eyes.

"Mrs Mellark," she says in a fake-cheerful tone, all rosy cheeks and sunshine, "you have to be quiet and not over exert yourself. Your babies are stressed right now."

I fix my glare on my mother. "I think it's best if you leave, Mrs Everdeen," I say with acid in my voice. She stiffly gets up and walks out of the room, her greying blonde hair falling behind her, and the nurse busies herself checking the bag of fluid attached to my IV. One angry look from me causes her to exit the room, skittish and nervous, and I slump back against the bed.

"Hey," Peeta starts, two fingers brushing against my chin, directing my gaze to his. "She means well, Katniss."

"She may 'mean well', but it's been _too damn long_ for her to just waltz back in," I growl, jerking my face back. My fists clench, and I'm about to lead off onto a rampage, when a clashing sound echoes from the hall. A male voice swears, which follows with another clang of metal and the chastising of a nurse. The door smacks open, hitting the wall with enough force to put a hole in the plaster, and I inwardly groan. Haymitch Abernathy, as drunk as ever, staggers into the room and trips over his own two feet, landing on my bed with a thump.

"Sweetheart!" He slurs, struggling to push himself back upright off my feet. "I didn't know you had a… a…" He pauses, eyes squinting in concentration. "A bun in the oven!" He bursts, before guffawing at his own bad humour. Peeta and I exchange wary glances. It's been months since we've really seen him. Peeta sometimes drops bread on the kitchen counter, but I've been keeping my distance. If there's anyone I want to keep out of my baby's life, it's Haymitch. His breath reeks of white liquor, greying facial hair scraggly and uneven, like he'd attempted shaving several different places and simple given up after one stroke. Even his black curls look atrocious; matted and missing in several patches. Like he'd fallen past rock bottom and landed on his face. Like he'd simply given up.

_This is why I didn't want him to know_, I say with my eyes, hoping Peeta picks up the message.

"Haymitch, how did you know we were here?" Peeta quizzes, grabbing the aging man by the shoulders and hoisting him up.

"Well…" He hiccups, and runs the length of the back of his arm across his mouth. "Why is it so bright in here?"

"Haymitch, what are you doing here?"

"Huh?" Haymitch looks confused, as if he's forgotten where he is.

"_How the hell_ did you know I was in the damn hospital, Haymitch!" I snap, angry at his carelessness. He couldn't even make sure he was sober before making a stop in a hospital.

"I was getting a blood test… Stupid little things, why would they care how much booze is in my blood?"

"But how did you know _I_ was in here?"

Haymitch furrows his brows in concentration, before widening them once again in remembrance.

"Your mother," he says, emotion changing from confusion to anger as only a drunk man could do. He jabs a finger at me with a glare, almost accusing, and points towards the way he had come in. "Lady ran out this door crying, absolutely balling her eyes out, so I came in the check you hadn't died or something."

An almost guilty feeling churns in my stomach. But Haymitch starts laughing again as he pushes himself completely off the mattress, staggering towards the door and falling, landing flat on his face. The skittish nurse squeals, before putting her fingers against his wrist and attempting to roll him over. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying someone will tell me I can leave before another visitor stops by.

"Mrs Mellark?"

A timid lady with chin length, dark brown hair stands in the doorway, clutching a clipboard. I squint my eyes to make out the name on her badge. _Dr Laurel_.

Peeta stands and extends a hand, to which she steps forward and limply shakes. I purse my lips. _How can such a fragile looking person look after people sick and wounded?_

"I'd like to talk to you about your… situation," she begins, sitting down. Her eyes are on the stiff white sheets of paper in front of her, glasses sliding slowly down her tiny nose. "Do you know what a miscarriage is?"

I stiffen completely. _Peeta said they were fine!_

She looks towards me, sensing my alarm. "Oh, no! I promise you, you didn't have one," she says, stumbling over the words in the rush to get them out. Confusion replaces fright, and I furrow my eyebrows. "What I meant to say was, though this seemed like a miscarriage, it was just light bleeding. Sorry!"

Her nervous disposition sets me on edge. "Then why am I in a hospital?"

"Oh!" She flips through several sheets of paper, raggedly tucking them under her fingers as she goes. "High blood pressure, that's it."

Peeta goes rigid beside me. "'That's it'?" He quotes, voice sharp and angry, and he stands abruptly. "I thought high blood pressure was bad!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Her cheeks flush, and her eyebrows furrow, stress clear on her features. Talking mustn't be one of her strong suits. "I just… I couldn't remember what it was!"

"You're a doctor, it's your job to remember!"

"It's my job to diagnose and give advice."

"Well, you're not very good at it." He snaps, and I grab his forearm.

"Peeta," I scold, the doctor on the verge of tears. "Give her a break, they just had to get rid of a drunkard."

Doctor Laurel shoots me a grateful look, lip trembling from stress, and resumes reading her sheet of paper.

"You'll experience some dizziness, which is why you fainted," she mumbles, shrinking under Peeta's presence. "And I exchanged the information with Doctor Aurelius; he believes the high blood pressure is causing the visual hallucinations."

My jaw drops. "All of the flashbacks… It was because of the high blood pressure?"

"That's what I asked. Some of it has to do with the hormones, the rest possibly the blood pressure. Either way, we're prescribing you medication to lower your blood pressure. This should alleviate headaches and help a little with any existing morning sickness."

She stands up hurriedly, cutting off my questioning, and exits the room.

"I'm sorry," Peeta calls after her, but she disappears without another word. His fists clench and release before he collapses back into the chair beside me, letting out a huge sigh, and his voice drops to a whisper. "I'm sorry, Katniss."

I just touch his cheek with my fingertips, shaking my head slightly. I've never been good with words, so I have to find other ways to say what I mean. He's just as scared for these babies as I am, but he also worries about me much more than he should.

_You can't protect me from myself, Peeta_.

_**Keep reading, make my day with a review, and now with this, I bid you a due. **_

_**Ally, xo**_


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